


Except for me

by kth



Category: Crooked Media RPF, Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kth/pseuds/kth
Summary: “I grew an inch last month,” he says defensively, even though what he really means is a month and twenty years ago.Tommy wakes up and he's seventeen again.





	Except for me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first official foray into this fandom, not quite sure where this came from but I hope you enjoy it. Written quickly and unbeta'ed.
> 
>   _you were only seventeen/falling in love with everything/except for me_

Tommy wakes up in a hotel room in Austin with no idea who Jon and Lovett are or how he got there. Also, he’s seventeen. 

“We’re like, the resistance now,” Lovett says, two hours later when they’ve at least convinced him that he hasn’t been kidnapped or worse. “Believe me, this is your dream job. Also, I’m a joy to work with.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call his mom?” Jon says, for the fourth time. 

They do the live pod without him that night, because even if they could convince people that his voice sounds strange because of a cold, there’s no way to explain the sudden narrowness of his chest and shoulders or the way all of his jeans dip dangerously low on his hips. 

Lovett’s pants are the right length but Tommy has to wear his belt buckled on the last notch to keep them up and and it makes his neck and cheeks flush pink with embarrassment. 

“I grew an inch last month,” he says defensively, even though what he really means is a month and twenty years ago.

“What’s the biggest thing that happened to you this year?” Lovett asks. “Did you get your braces off? Join the water polo team?”

“Umm, I saw Titanic in the theater with Sarah from my chemistry class,” Tommy says, and Jon has to duck his chin to hide a smile. 

“Excellent,” Lovett howls, “maybe you can talk about that on the pod.”

*  
Arriving back in L.A. sets off a new round of arguments when Tommy insists that he should be allowed to stay in his own house. 

“You’re a teenager,” Jon says, hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel as he exits the parking lot at LAX. “You’re--nobody is even going to believe that that’s your driver’s license.”

“It still looks like me,” Tommy says, defiantly. 

He’s sitting in the back seat, arms crossed across his chest. They got him a size small shirt from merch but even that’s got some room in the shoulders, hangs a little loosely around his biceps. His hair, fluffier at this age, is perpetually ruffled up in the in front. 

“It says that you’re 6’3,” Lovett says, gleefully, “If you get pulled over the cops are totally going to think you stole that from an older brother.”

Ultimately they swing by his house to pick up a few things before heading to Jon’s. Tommy seems weirded out by his home, wanders through the living room and kitchen and takes in his worn leather sofa, opens up the knife drawer in the kitchen, looks at the little jar of artisan mustard and the half empty bottle of sauvignon blanc in his fridge. 

“I’m like, kind of a boring adult, aren’t I?” he asks. 

“You’re not boring,” Jon says, “You have um, specific tastes.”

Tommy spends a long minute staring at the framed letter from Obama on the wall in the hallway and Jon thinks, wildly, that he doesn’t even know how much that really means. 

“There are condoms and a dildo in the bedside drawer,” Tommy yells from the bedroom.

“Stick to the task!” Jon yells back and rushes him to finish filling his overnight bag with toiletries and clean underwear. 

Jon has an extra bedroom with an actual bed and not an exercise bike which is the only reason Tommy ends up with him instead of Lovett. Tommy watches him get the clean sheets out of the hall closet and strip the bed. 

Jon’s halfway through stretching the fitted sheet across the mattress when Tommy uncrosses his arms, says, “I could help with that.”

He gestures for him to take the other side and they make the bed together, Jon showing him how to fold a neat hospital corner with the top sheet. “Actually, you’re the one who taught me that,” he says. Tommy frowns. 

“At home, someone else makes my bed,” he says. He absentmindedly smooths out the wrinkles in the duvet. 

“Well,” Jon says, handing him a pillow to fluff, “I guess I’m teaching you earlier now,” and tries not to think about the weird inception time warp of it all, wonders if adult Tommy will have memories from this repeat of his teenage years when he comes back. If he comes back. 

“Anyway, the bathroom down the hall is all yours, also don’t run away in the middle of the night.”

*

Jon has to drag a groggy Tommy out of bed the next morning to head into work but once he’s up he immediately homes in on Leo.

“Cool, you have a dog!” Tommy says, genuinely delighted. 

It’s the first real smile he’s seen since Tommy woke up a teenager. Jon guesses some things never change. 

Tommy immediately takes charge of Leo, straps on his little harness and insists on carrying the plastic bag with his food and treats to the office in his own backpack. Jon looks over at a red light and sees them sitting together in the front seat, Leo licking Tommy’s face and their matching blonde curls coming together where their foreheads touch, thinks, “puppies”. 

He doesn’t let Tommy order coffee during their Starbucks stop, says, “Caffeine will stunt your growth, you want to get back to 6’3 right?” which sets Tommy off into another grumpy huff. 

It’s becomes obvious pretty quickly that Tommy can’t do Pod Save the World this week, not so much because of how he sounds but because he literally has no idea what’s going on in the world. 

Tommy at seventeen wants to study pre-law in college and says his favorite book is Catcher in the Rye, which makes Lovett spit his coffee across the room from laughing so hard and leads to a moody Tommy spending the whole morning locked in an empty conference room with the dogs. 

“You have to be nice to him,” Jon says seriously, perched on the corner of Lovett’s desk. “Gentle, at least.”

“I’m totally nice,” Lovett says. “But he’s so uncool. Our Tommy, apparently the late bloomer.” The edges of Lovett’s mouth are tugging up in a smile and Jon feels himself caving too. 

“He does seem pretty new, doesn’t he?” he says 

Lovett cracks open a diet coke. “He definitely had a crush on Bill Clinton at this age, should we tell him how that turns out?”

Tommy finally emerges for lunch and gets way too excited to order Postmates on Jon’s iphone. 

“Do you have Napster on here,” Tommy asks, and Jon has to shoot another dirty look at Lovett who’s slumped down in his chair far enough for his computer to block his hysterical laughter. 

Jon sets him up with a laptop after they eat and tries to show Tommy twitter and wikipedia, tells him not to look at any porn. 

“Is that even an option?” Tommy asks, before he starts googling himself. 

He expects to come back and find Tommy on a deep dive into his own social media but instead he’s taking notes on March Madness basketball outcomes from the previous two decades. 

“What,” he says, flipping a page in his notebook, “If I can remember all of this I’m totally going to kill my bracket next year.”

*

At home Tommy spends a lot of time swimming in the pool. He never dries off properly so Jon is constantly mopping up the little puddles of water that he tracks into the house, chides Tommy to wear sunscreen when he notices how red his shoulders and the bridge of his nose are getting. Tommy swims in his boxer briefs because none of Jon’s swim trunks fit him and Jon spends a lot of time washing dishes in the kitchen sink, staring out the little window that overlooks the pool. 

Jon doesn’t cook much anyway so most nights they get take out, watch a game or something on Netflix since all of the shows are new to Tommy. It’s not that different from the half dozen other random roommates Jon has had throughout adulthood except that Tommy can’t go for the beer run and sometimes Jon has to remind him to put his dishes in the sink or show him how much laundry detergent he’s supposed to use. 

Tommy spends just as many evenings across the street at Lovett’s playing video games, often into the early morning hours, always sneaking quietly back through the front door so as not to wake Jon from where he’s fallen asleep on the couch waiting. Jon suspects that Lovett lets him smoke a little weed because he sometimes comes back looser, with an easy grin and sleepy eyes. 

“I had forgotten how much being seventeen sucks,” Lovett says, one night when they’re drinking beers in the kitchen together while Tommy’s out in the pool.

“Tommy doesn’t suck,” Jon starts, defensively. 

“No, no,” Lovett says, running a fingernail under the label on his bottle. “It’s just so hard. Confusing. You’re barely a person yet, but like, you’re trying to be.”

Jon looks out the window to where Tommy’s sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water. “I thought you said Tommy wasn’t cool.”

Lovett chuckles. “Oh, he’s totally uncool. But it’s kind of endearing. I lived with the guy for years in D.C. and I feel like I didn’t know half the things about him that I know now.”

“You guys talk a lot, huh?” Jon shouldn’t feel a stab of jealousy, it’s good that Tommy has someone to talk to, but he thought he was the nice, responsible adult in Tommy’s life. Shit.

“I think,” Lovett says, walks over to rinse out his empty beer bottle in the sink, “that I’m the first gay guy he’s been friends with. Like, right now, at seventeen.”

“Why does it matter that you’re gay?”

“Tommy--he’s trying to figure things out. He has a really big crush on you, you know?”

Jon looks back out the window but he can’t see where Tommy’s moved to.

“You guys talk about me?”

“That’s not the point,” Lovett says. “Tommy’s seventeen and being seventeen is shitty and confusing.”

“I didn’t know that he--I didn’t know.” Jon says. 

Lovett cracks open another beer. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Let’s order Domino’s.”

*  
Days turn into weeks and Tommy, the wrong Tommy as Jon has started to think of him, is still with them. 

Early on they decided that the public explanation for Tommy’s absence was that he’d decided to pull back and work behind the scenes for a little bit while they re-formatted his podcast. Initially they’d let him maintain his social media presence but one afternoon after lunch he’d tweeted, “Did you know you can buy tacos on the street here? Awesome!” and they’d had to cut him off from that too. 

Once the initial excitement of catching up on twenty years of internet wears off, he turns bored and sulky and generally brings down the mood of the office. 

One afternoon when Jon is completely swamped with work and has twenty-five emails to send out and Tommy’s complaining that he’s hungry for lunch, Jon snaps, “You know, you could help out around here, it’s your company too.”

Tommy looks stricken. Lovett looks up to glare at Jon over his computer. “I thought we were being gentle!”

But Tommy just says, “Well give me something to do then,” and yeah, he was definitely kind of a brat as a teenager. Is kind of a brat.

Jon gives him something easy to start with, just collecting responses on a piece of legislation from each Senator’s office, but Tommy works on it through lunch and comes back a few hours later with the list complete. 

“That’s really good Tommy, thanks,” Jon says, and Tommy blushes all the way down to his shirt collar.

Tommy hadn’t lied about how quickly he’s growing at this age. Jon had taken him to the Gap after week one of being seventeen, just to pick up a few basics, a handful of t-shirts that fit in the shoulders and jeans that he wouldn’t be swimming in. Now though, the henley that they’d bought just a few weeks ago is looking snug across Tommy’s chest where he’s got the top two buttons open to reveal the hollow of his throat, one sharp edge of a collarbone. 

Jon gives him daily tasks after that, little projects that he completes with unwavering attention to detail. And Jon shouldn’t be surprised, because he’s still Tommy, one of the most competent people that Jon’s ever worked with. Just, a different Tommy. 

Lovett gives him projects too, under the guise of preparing topics for the rant wheel, though Jon suspects he’s just trying to get Tommy caught up on pop culture. He walks in on them one afternoon huddled over Lovett’s phone, looking at Grindr. 

“What’s this,” Jon says, clutching the print out of the newest spending bill he’d already gone through and marked up in blue highlighter to review with Tommy. 

“It’s research,” Lovett says, swiping left on a burly guy with a full sleeve of tattoos. 

“It’s--” Jon looks down at his print out. “Tommy’s too young for that.”

Tommy whips around in his swivel chair to face Jon. “I’ll be eighteen in three months,” he says

“That’s um, beside the point,” Jon says. “You should be meeting people your own age, and like, the normal way.”

“I don’t even go to school,” Tommy snaps back. “I just hang out here with you guys all day.”

“Whatever, the experience you’re getting here is more valuable than school anyway,” Lovett says. “Oh look, this guy kind of looks like you when you get old!”

*

One Friday Lovett says, “Must be cramping your style, living with a teenager now.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I don’t have a style to cramp.”

“Well, there’s a new game dropping that Tommy and I want to marathon so he’ll be at my place all night,” Lovett says. “I bought Mountain Dew.”

“Gross. Neither of you should drink that. Remember how our Tommy like, only eats quinoa?”

Jon wasn’t lying about not wanting to pick up and finds himself unsure of what to do with himself all night. His house hasn’t been this quiet in a long time. 

In the end he gets a little bit stoned and watches college football in his underwear, something he’d never do with Tommy around. 

Later he jerks off frantically on the couch and keeps his mind totally blank, does not think at all about bumping into Tommy in the hallway that morning fresh out of the shower, towel low around his waist and droplets of water in his long eyelashes. Definitely doesn’t think about it, not one bit. 

*

At seventeen Tommy has never actually been to California and after weeks of begging Jon finally takes him sightseeing one weekend. Everything is crowded and it’s torture but Tommy loves it, makes Jon hand over his phone so that he can take pictures. Lovett taught him about selfies and when Jon gets his phone back his camera roll is full of pictures of Tommy all over L.A., goofy lopsided grin and slightly too long haircut. 

They take Leo to hike Runyon Canyon on Saturday, even though Jon tells Tommy that he’ll get too tired and have to be carried. Tommy dutifully secures him in his backpack when Leo lies down on the ground and refuses to move fifteen minutes into the hike. 

Afterward Jon takes him to get a massive burger and fries, because Tommy has a big appetite most of the time but he’s even more famished after the exercise. 

Tommy’s methodically drenching his fries in ketchup so that he isn’t making eye contact when he says, “I’ve never had a girlfriend, you know.”

“That’s uh, not something I knew, I guess we never really talked about it.”

“I haven’t had a boyfriend either, if you were wondering.”

Jon takes a big gulp of soda. “You’re young. You have time, for whatever.”

“Do I though?” Tommy asks, looks up finally at Jon. “Like, in the future, am I with someone?”

Jon smirks. “You definitely date people Tommy, don’t worry about that. You’ve seen pictures of how you turn out, right?”

“Yeah but, am I happy? It seems like I’m kind of alone.”

Something tugs at the bottom of Jon’s stomach and it’s hard, so hard to see Tommy like this. He’s seen Tommy through a lot across their years of friendship; he’s seen him stressed out and worried that the world is going to implode, upset and angry at the end of relationships, he’s seen him overjoyed at the birth of his niece and devastated at the loss of his father. But he’s never seen him so overwhelmingly unsure and vulnerable, the way he is now. 

“It’s complicated,” Jon shrugs. “We’ve all been through a lot together man.” 

“But you can’t tell me?”

“I think--I think it’s better for you to just, find out. On your own.”

Tommy looks down, picks at his fries.

“You’re an awesome friend, and you’re whip smart, and we couldn’t run this company without you,” Jon continues. “And I think you’re happy. I hope you’re happy.”

Tommy nods, scratches under the collar of his t-shirt. 

“I like it, hanging with you and Lovett everyday. I think--I have to be happy. I just wish I knew everything that older me knows.”

“Everything in it’s own time,” Jon says, cringing a little bit at how much he sounds like his own dad. 

“Let’s get you a milkshake before we leave.”

*

They have a Fourth of July cookout for the company at Jon’s house, allegedly because he has the pool but mostly so that Lovett doesn’t need to have his cleaning lady come twice in one week. 

Jon puts Tommy to work, sets him up at the grill with a big stack of hamburgers and hot dogs to get through and more importantly to keep him away from the cooler of beer that Jon has noticed him glancing at stealthily. 

“You’re seventeen,” Jon says, handing him a hot dog bun. 

“Actually I’m thirty-seven and trapped in a youthful body.”

“Well, you should be grateful,” Jon chirps back. “These are the best years of your life.”

Lovett and Ronan show up late, burst through the back door with a big case of Miller Light and an atrocious pool float Lovett’s been dying to try out. Ronan’s eyes immediately narrow on Tommy.

“Wow he’s really--wow.”

Jon gives him a sharp look. 

“Still has the same cheekbones though, right Jon?”

“Knock it off,” Lovett says, pushing him back inside the house with a hand low on his back. 

“What does he mean about my cheekbones?” Tommy asks slyly, after they’ve gone inside. 

Jon, who’s just taken a big gulp of beer, chokes a little bit, coughs out, “You know how you look.”

They watch some neighborhood fireworks, later, and everyone progressively gets more drunk and more sloppy. Jon stumbles into the kitchen to refill the ice bucket and finds Tommy and Elijah in deep conversation, both with beers in hand. 

“I said no alcohol!” Jon shouts, belatedly realizing that he actually sounds kind of drunk. 

“It’s one beer,” Tommy says. Jon narrows his eyes. “It’s two--ok, three beers. Three beers for America!”

“I’m keeping an eye on him, don’t worry,” Elijah says, winking, and Jon definitely feels worried. 

Jon grabs Tommy by the elbow and starts to lead him out of the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just need his help outside, more grilling, you know!”

“What the hell,” Tommy says, but follows Jon out to one of the lawn chairs in the backyard 

“Hey did you know, Elijah was telling me about this movie called The Matrix, have you seen it?” Tommy starts, and that sets off a long conversation about the movies that Jon still needs to show Tommy, the movies that he’s missed. 

When they both look up again the party has cleared out, just the two of them alone in the backyard. Jon looks up at the sky, looks at all the stars that are out, it’s such a clear night, and when he looks back Tommy is staring at him.

“I wasn’t sure about you, at first, because I couldn’t remember you,” Tommy says quietly. 

“And like, I still don’t remember you. But I get it. I get why we’re friends.”

Jon nods, wishes he had something to do with his hands. 

“I feel super safe with you,” Tommy’s saying, and then he’s leaning in to press his mouth against Jon’s. 

Jon thinks yes, finally, lets himself press closer to Tommy and deepen the kiss. Tommy’s awkward, he clearly hasn’t done this much, but he parts his lips and lets Jon lead, lets Jon put his tongue in his mouth. 

Jon isn’t sure how long they’ve kissed but his lips are starting to feel dry so he works his mouth down, starts pressing gentle kisses to Tommy’s neck underneath his ear. 

Tommy’s got his hands fisted in the front of Jon’s shirt, a death grip on the fabric, and he’s letting out these little breathy, helpless moans every time Jon’s lips make contact with his skin. 

When Jon nudges his shirt collar aside to start sucking a bruise into Tommy’s collarbone he says, “Fuck, Jon,” and it doesn’t sound right, it’s off, and that’s what finally snaps Jon out of it. 

He jerks back. Jon was so wrapped up in Tommy, in kissing Tommy, that he’d almost forgotten it was the wrong Tommy. That he can’t have this with this Tommy, or with any Tommy. 

Tommy’s mouth is hanging open, wet, and his eyes look desperate and hungry. His collar is stretched out and there’s a dark bruise blooming on his neck. He also looks so, so young. 

“I’m--” Jon runs a hand down his face, rubs his eyes. “We can’t do this Tommy, I’m so sorry.”

Tommy starts blinking rapidly, looking everywhere except Jon’s face. 

“Because it’s me?” He says, hands gripping the edge of the lawn chair. “Because you don’t like guys?”

“Who told you that? Did Lovett say that?”

Tommy rubs at his nose. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not because of that. It’s because--this isn’t us. This isn’t you, and you’re seventeen, and if you want to experiment it should be with people your own age.”

“Fuck that,” Tommy says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Fuck that, you’re supposed to be my best friend and you’re supposed to take care of me.”

Jon really, really wants to kiss him again and simultaneously wishes that he could be literally anywhere else, not having this conversation. 

“I don’t think that this is how it’s supposed to go for you,” he says. “For us.”

“Ok,” Tommy says, but he doesn’t sound ok, he sounds kind of like he did when he told Jon that his dad had died, years ago. 

Jon leans forward, wraps his arms around Tommy. He wouldn’t be able to hug Tommy like this, fully envelope his body in his arms, if it were the real Tommy. His Tommy. He lets Tommy breathe wetly into his shoulder for a few minutes before he starts to let go, gives him a few gentle scratches on the back. 

“Let’s go to bed. I think Leo looks like he wants to sleep in your bed tonight,” Jon says. 

Tommy nods, picks up some discarded cups and plates to take with him as he heads back through the patio door, Leo on his heels. Once they’re inside Jon lets his head fall heavily into his hands. Fuck. 

*

He expects for it to be weird, after, but it’s not. Or at least Tommy is trying his damndest to pretend that things are normal. Jon almost expected to wake up and find a thirty-seven year-old Tommy returned the next morning but no such luck. 

Tommy spends most of the day after the party over at Lovett’s house and Jon cringes to think what Lovett and Ronan are probably saying about the whole thing but all he can do is clean up from the party the night before, walk Leo, order dinner. 

Tommy returns in the early evening, says, “Can we watch The Matrix now?” and that’s that. 

Over the next few months they keep busy. Tommy starts a running program and begins waking up at 5 a.m. to run sprints at the middle school track down the street. Jon brings him a stack of book from the library, including all of Obama’s, says, “You worked for him, you should at least try to know,” and Tommy finishes them all within the week. 

Dan teaches Tommy to drive stick. They have a standing sushi date with Lovett every Friday and a dog park outing every Sunday. Jon takes Tommy to try out a youth sailing club but he doesn’t like it, says it’s too weird to be around teenagers. 

They spend a long weekend building bookshelves in Jon’s living room, not because Jon has any books but because Tommy sees someone else do it online and wants to try it himself. Neither one of them really knows how to use a level and Tommy gets a gnarly splinter that Jon spends thirty minutes carefully removing with tweezers but when they’re finished Tommy stares at the shelves, smiling proudly, and it’s totally worth it. 

Things are good, maybe not great because Tommy is still a moody teenager after all, but he’s found his place at work and they’ve found their place as friends and things are working. 

And then, six months to the day since he woke up seventeen, Tommy wakes up normal again. 

*

Jon walks out into the kitchen, like any other morning, but he knows something’s weird when Leo’s food bowl has already been filled. Tommy never does that. There’s also coffee in the coffee maker and the World section of the New York Times open on the kitchen counter. 

When Jon walks into the living room, Tommy, the real Tommy, is sitting on the couch with coffee in hand. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” Jon says dumbly. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Are you, um, back to normal?” Jon asks 

“Think so. I mean, I feel normal. And like, I remember everything that happened so...yeah. I think it’s over now.”

“Oh,” Jon says faintly. “Cool.”

“Yep. Cool.”

They stare at each other for a minute. If it were any other morning Jon would be offering to make Tommy eggs and they’d be packing Leo up to go into the office but that’s not their life, not now. 

“I didn’t want for you to like, wake up and think I’d run away,” Tommy says, ducking his head. “I can just call a Lyft to head home though.”

“No, don’t be stupid, I’ll drive you,” Jon says, grabbing his keys before Tommy can say no. 

The ten minute drive to Tommy’s house is uncomfortably silent. Jon pulls into the driveway, asks, “Need any help with your bag?” and then Tommy’s gone. 

*

In many ways, things go back to the way they were. Tommy throws himself back into work, starts making up for lost time cranking out new podcasts. Lovett teases him just as much as he did before and they all still get sushi every Friday. 

The first couple of days after Tommy moves out, goes back to his house, Leo wanders around looking for him. One day Jon catches him laying on the bed in the guest bedroom, Tommy’s bed, and Jon goes in to lay down beside him. 

“I know dude. It’s lonely going from the tres amigos to just dos.”

And it’s weird, because he has shelves in his living room that Tommy built and a drawer full of size small t-shirts in his guest room and about 500 photos on his phone that he has no idea what to do with. 

He throws out the toothbrush that Tommy left in the bathroom and stops buying the brand of peanut butter that Tommy had liked. And he misses him. 

They’re the last two to leave the office one Friday night and as they’re packing up Jon takes a deep breath, says, “So, it’s been kind of weird without you.”

Tommy stops dead putting on his coat, stands there dumbly with one arm in and one arm out. 

“It’s taken some, some adjustment, for me too.”

“I feel like we were close before, and then we were close when you were, you know, younger, and now we’re just not.”

Tommy nods. “My head’s been a little messed up, after everything.”

He gives up on putting the coat back on and sits down heavily in his desk chair. 

“Some of the feelings I had when I was seventeen--I hadn’t thought about feeling that way in a long time. It fucked me up to have all of that back in my head.”

“I get it,” Jon says. “But like, I’m not sure that us being weird and distant is the answer.”

“No, you’re right,” Tommy says. “We should watch the Patriots this weekend and I’ll like, try to be normal.”

“Cool.” Jon shoves his laptop into his bag. “Leo will be pumped.”

*

They watch the first half of the game and it’s cool, it’s normal, they each have a couple of beers and split a pizza. Leo will barely leave Tommy’s side which Jon can tell secretly delights him. They both go wild when the Pats score a pick six with two minutes left in the half.

Jon gets up to stretch at halftime, leans back and raises his arms above his head to stretch out his back. When he looks down he sees Tommy staring at the strip of stomach sticking out between his jeans and his t-shirt. 

“I was kind of surprised,” he starts, tentatively, “by how into guys you seemed to be. When you were seventeen.”

Tommy stares at him. 

“You’ve never really talked about that before.”

“I’ve dated a lot of people,” Tommy says. “Mostly girls, a few guys.” He’s fiddling with the volume switch on his phone. 

“I didn’t um, realize that you had dated guys,” Jon says, sitting back down on the couch.

“I had a boyfriend when we worked at the White House.” Tommy’s squinting at him incredulously. “It wasn’t like, a secret.”

“What? No you didn’t.” Jon’s pretty sure he would’ve remembered Tommy dating a dude. 

“Yeah, I did, remember Will?” Tommy asks.

“Will was your sailing partner,” Jon says. He remembers meeting the guy maybe twice and thinking he was even preppier than Tommy had been. 

“We met through sailing and then we, we dated. He was at my thirtieth birthday party.”

“I--I guess I was maybe distracted, then,” Jon says. He remembers that Will was way too tan. He had stupid hair. 

Tommy is starting to look legitimately angry. “Yeah, you were off like, banging celebrities, living the high life.”

“Oh come on!” Jon says. This is so dumb. 

“Whatever,” Tommy says, running a hand through his hair and fucking it up. “The point is, I was, I am, into men.”

“Ok,” Jon says. He pulls Leo into his lap and scratches underneath his collar. 

“I’m sorry that I was dick to you about it now and also like, when you were fake seventeen.”

“I’d rather not be reminded of that rejection,” Tommy grits out. 

“What?” Jon says, “You were jailbait. You looked--you looked even younger than seventeen. That’s not really what I’m into.”

“So it wasn’t because it was me?”

Now it’s Jon’s turn to look incredulous. “I feel like we had this conversation? At the time?”

Tommy’s still staring at him. 

“I kissed you back, don’t be dumb,” Jon says. 

He gets up off the couch and heads into the kitchen, cracks open another beer. He can hear the game starting back up in the other room but he doesn’t want to deal with the awkwardness. He grabs some chips out of the cabinet, they’re the super greasy kind that Tommy hates. He’d bought the weird five grain tortilla chips that Tommy prefers but Jon likes these so fuck it, he’s opening them now. 

When Tommy walks in he’s aggressively shoveling chips into his mouth and has a wet spot on his shirt where he’s just spilled some of his beer. It’s not his best look. 

“Jesus. I can’t believe you kept a teenager alive for six months, look at you,” Tommy says, before he walks over and kisses him. 

It’s far better than their first kiss, because Tommy at thirty-seven has kissed far more people, probably hundreds more people, than Tommy at seventeen. With both of them standing Tommy is taller than he is, has to bend down a little bit to get at Jon’s mouth from the right angle. It’s wet and perfect and when Tommy shifts a hand under Jon’s shirt to the small of his back Jon has to push up on his toes to kiss him deeper. 

Tommy pulls back and Jon thinks he’s going to scream, but Tommy just says, softly, “This is fine, right? Please say this is fine.”

Jon nods frantically, loops his arms up around Tommy’s neck to pull him back in for another kiss. 

He can feel Tommy getting hard in his jeans, dick up against Jon’s belly, and when he presses up into him to give him some friction Tommy makes this low, breathy noise that reminds him of when they kissed in the backyard. It makes something uncurl inside of him, makes him want to do more than just make out in the kitchen. 

“C’mon" he says, drags Tommy into his bedroom and closes the door to keep Leo out. 

Tommy takes a breath, looks around, says, “Is it weird that I lived here and don’t actually know what your bedroom looks like?”

“I didn’t bring you here for sight seeing purposes,” Jon says, and starts unzipping Tommy’s jeans. 

“Ah” Tommy says, and lets Jon peel his jeans and underwear down his legs, lifts his shirt over his head. 

Tommy looks fucking amazing, his body so much different than it was at seventeen, broader, bigger. Jon can’t stop looking at the trail of hair leading up from his groin, the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Jon sits down at the edge of the bed and takes his shirt off, reaches out and pulls on Tommy’s hips until his erection is bobbing in front of his face. 

“If you wanted to fuck my mouth, that would be cool,” he says, blinking up at Tommy from under hooded eyes. He knows how he looks. 

Tommy wastes no time getting his dick in his mouth. The hands cradling Jon’s head and stroking gently behind his ear, softly down his throat, are a sharp contrast to the steady grind of Tommy’s hips. 

It only takes a few minutes before Tommy’s shouting and spilling into Jon’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Tommy says. “Roll over and let me jerk you off.”

Afterwards, laying in Jon’s bed with their feet mashed together under the sheets, Tommy scrolls through the camera roll on Jon’s phone. 

“I was pretty thirsty, leaving all of these photos on your phone,” he says, elbowing Jon in the ribs. 

“But I was pretty hot, for jailbait.”

Jon rolls over, kisses Tommy on the shoulder. Says, “Yeah, you’re pretty hot.”


End file.
